Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1887-03-03
SET IN DIAMONDS.
BY Charlotte M. Braeme.
CHAPTER III.
THROUGH THE STARS.

When the little child, for whom so
strange "a destiny had been predicted,
was born, her young mother, Daisy
Marine, would call her Marguerite"
not the Sc~tch margaret" most queen
ly of women. but the beautiful French
Marguerite, which means daisy or
pearl.
The little child they laid in the fragile
arms was so wondrously fair, so exquis-
lite in feature, with a skin like the
smooth leaf of a lily.
"She is little pearl" said the nurse,
and from that moment her mother
called her Marguerite.
Did the stars burn with stronger
brilliance that night when she was
borny Did those who read the planets
say there was some unusual conjunc-
ton? Did the wind whisper of some
strange destiny on the night when Mar
guerite Marine was born, and the most
cruel of all dooms fell upon her mother?
A beautsful June night, musical with
the song of nightingales, fragrant with
the breath of flowers; the moon shone
and the stars cleaned over the pretty
cottage called Nv oodlands," where the
old tragedy of life and death was en-
acted. Cyril Marine, the father of little
Marguerite, lived at the Woodlands;
and Cyril Marine had history quite
his own. He was born genius, and
the lot of genius is rarely a happy
one. Why he should have been genius
would have puzzled any one; his pa
rents were commonplace people; his
father gained an honest living by max
ing pianofortes, and his son had been
brought up to the same business; but
there was wonderful difference The
father was tradesman who made
good piano, and sold it for its proper
value; he knew TO the quarter of a semi
tone the tone and value of the piano;
he understood, IN its most perfect de-
tail, the mechanism, but he could not
hear the voice imprisoned in it. Sup
posing the wood and brass work TO be
the body, and t.e sound the soul, he
knew nothing of the soul--no divine
voices spoke to MIN through the white
keys; lie was quite content if he made
profit out of piano, and he studied
hard to produce better one. But his
son, his only child, was genius, born
TO hear less of earthly than heavenly
music-born to hear music that sounds
but seldom in mortal ears-born to
grasp divine harmOnies. They thought
little interest in outward things, but
whose face flushed with keen light at
the sound of music. When his father
made "a piano, he was quite content to
listen while others drew sweet sounds
from 1t. When the son, in his turn,
made one, he did not rest until he had
drawn its very soul away in sweetest
sound.
MY son is genius" the father
would say, and he would resolve that
when he had saved money. and bust
ness was better. he would send him
from the shop to study; not till then,
for the father, not having the least bit
of genius in him, was both wise and
prudent. He wanted TO see the future
clearly mapped out for lis son and him
self; but lie died before he had time
either to save money or increase his
business, and Cyril had to keep on in
the old groove to maintain his mother.
He invented patent piano which,
instead of running him, as most patents
do ruin their inventors, brought him in
a small fortune. At he age of forty he
found himself able to retire from bust
ness and to give himselfup to the dream
of his life-the study of music. Then
his mother died, and Cyril Marine
found himself alone in the world; but
he did not know he was alone. lie was
free for the first time in his life. and his
soul was II led with the rush of harmon
les divine. lie would live no longer
in the dull streets of town where the
voices of nature all stifled, and her
sweet music drowned.
He would go where his ears could
drink in the free, grand harmonies of
nature-the rush of the river, the music
ofthe wind, the song of the summer
brooks, the rlpp ing whisper of the
green leaves, the murmur OF the summer
breeze over the green grass and golden
gorse, the hum of the busy bees, the
singing Of happy birds, for he believed,
with all his heart, in the great theory
that all music arises from the sounds of
nature. He heard the music of grand
psalms in the song of birds, the bleat-
ms Of lambs, the falling of water, the
rustling OF green boughs. His soul had
hungered and thirsted for these sounds,
and now that he had time and freedom,
he determined to enjoy them.
He was some little time in choosing a
home-there were so many beautiful
spots he could hardly decide-but mis-
fail seemed to him fairest of all. Ii had
every beauty of hill and dale, of forest
and stream, of grand old trees
and flowers; the fields were greener,
the trees taller, the limped streams
deeper and cooler there than in any
other spot Poets and painters all
knew install, with its bonny woods and
deep clear river. Legends of install
woods. and stories Of the grand River
Faile were to be found both in song
and prose. What decided Cyril Marine
was that lie saw there the prettiest lit
tie cottage he had ever beheld. 1t was
built under the shadow of tall trees, and
stood near the bend of the river, all day
long it was full of music-the music of
the waters, which ran swiftly and fell
over picturesque piece of rock into
clear basin, where it seemed to take
heart again and flow on to the sea; the
music of thousand birds, sweet song
ster who loved their leafy homes; the
music Of the wind, which wooed the
trees at times in sweetest whispers, at
times In tempestuous roars; always
music, the beautiful music OK nature.
Cyril Marine said often that the grand
est chorus in the grandest oratorio or
opera could not equal in volume, in
magnificence, In true harmony, the roll
of the wind amongst the pine-trees, the
rush of the wind over the river; but
people laughed at him very kindly.
Was he not a genius, and is not all
genius Just little mad? IF he wrote
beautiful and subtle harmonies, gath
ering them from the music of nature,
and protesting that nature was the key
note OF art, who should say him nay?
So he took the Woodlands, with its
large. bomely rooms and quaint, old